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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176990">The Ticcing killer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc3ne_kid/pseuds/sc3ne_kid'>sc3ne_kid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Creepypasta - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a Creepypasta, Blood, Blood and Violence, Creepypasta, Death, Explicit Language, Fire, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Original Character(s), Violence, Weapons, hatchet - Freeform, knife, pyromaniac, ticci toby - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc3ne_kid/pseuds/sc3ne_kid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is a high school kid who has an unexpected night encounter with a certain ticcing murderer that leaves him sleeping for a long time.</p><p>Posted on my tumblr as well (the-real-ticci-toby)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Self-indulgent work from someone with Tourette's who wishes to portray Toby with more severe Tourette's. This chapter is from Adam's perspective.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay! I know it’s already 12, and you have school tomorrow, but we need to talk about this it’s important!” Rang a scratchy voice through Adam’s speaker.</p><p><br/>“I know, but I’m going to bed. Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the cat bite.” Adam hung up on his friend, Olivia. Tossing his laptop onto the other side of the bed, he lied down. The old bedframe creaked and moaned with every movement. As he adjusted, the frame knocked into the wall due to its close proximity to the corner of the room. Everything in the house was old, possibly haunted, however very cheap. Flicking off the lamp, the streetlight outside his window cast shadows in the room. Silhouettes larger than the original item in question rested tenderly upon the walls. Wandering eyes scanned the room and landed on the human in the opposite corner of the room. Heart skipping a beat and body freezing, his eyes focused to reveal that it was only a stack of clothes.</p><p><br/>Resting his head on the pillow, he thought about his upcoming days. Thoughts of the robotics club roamed his thoughts, brainstorming ideas for the upcoming event. An uncomfortable, quiet screech rang through the hallway filling his stomach with dread. He shifted in the bed, causing its rigid frame to groan again. Sounds radiating through the house, notifying its residents that it was starting to settle down for the night always made him uneasy, it’s noises speaking to him, reminding him of its age. His eyes fluttered close, encompassing his vision in pure darkness.</p><p><br/>It wasn’t much later, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour that he still hadn’t fallen asleep. The croaky song of the house kept him tossing and turning, the creaking of the floorboards reminding him of people walking. The wind picked up outside, the notions of a storm moving in. The gentle yet piercing sound of the air moving outside leaked through the old windows, giving an eerie ambiance to the room. This didn’t help his state, allowing his mind to wander to uncomfortable places. The streetlamp would dim occasionally, letting shadows dance across the walls. He rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head to block his vision and muffle his hearing. This didn’t work too well. The A/C clicked on, sputtering an occasional cold breeze onto him, making the hairs on his arms stand up to a fine point. Pulling the blanket up higher, he was encompassed in a welcoming warmth, soothing his nerves.</p><p><br/>He heard a door creak open. The sound resonated through the halls, all the way to his room in a calm manner as if to only make him uneasy. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt his heart beating in his chest, only a little faster than usual. The sound was long and drawn out until silence filled the air. He took a deep breath in, then a shaky breath out. He reminded himself that the door to his parents’ room was insecure, opening at random times throughout the day. The fact that the air conditioning had turned on most likely led to it opening all the way. The air outside picked up, leaking through a hairline crack in the window. He started to relax, the blanket helping immensely, until a sound he hadn’t heard before echoed through the hallway.</p><p><br/>“Fuck off Mr. President!” He heard, extremely muffled. This was followed by a grunt, and then a yelp. He froze and his mind started running at a thousand miles a minute. Goosebumps assembled across his skin as if to be the little armor they could. It became clear that someone had come into his house, but why didn’t his parents hear? Something didn’t add up. If they were trying to be quiet, why would they make noise? He heard slow, quiet footsteps, then two stomps in the hallway. As the walking sound made it down the hallway, floorboards creaked, chilling his body to the bone. His head instinctively tilted up as he remembered a trick he read. His airways opened up, silencing his too loud breathing. The sound of his heart thumping faster than in gym class overcame his hearing and flowed through his chest. An idea conquered his thought process, yet not settling the panic. If he made it look like he was asleep, the person breaking in shouldn’t bother him. He rolled over to get in a more convincing position. The bed squeaked, and the footsteps stopped abruptly. His movements were quickly suspended by the fact that if he moved more, they would come for him.</p><p><br/>He cursed himself. Staying still was the better option, yet fear coursed through his brains, haltering his thought process. He needed to pull himself together, or else he could get killed. From the hallway, the unknown intruder abruptly spouted a few curse words. Adam’s face felt hot, his whole body felt like it was overheating, yet fear chilled him to the core. He decided, in a moment of courage that he himself would kill the intruder. Maybe while he was fighting his parents could call the cops. He stood up all of a sudden, causing the floorboards to screech under his feet. He should’ve stayed still. He wasn’t thinking. He had to pull his head together. Listening for the intruder, time seemed to move like molasses through tar. It felt like his ears were plugged with cotton. Despite the feeling of slowed time, everything happened in a matter of seconds. The door flung open, revealing the intruder. Adam stood up and grabbed his lamp, pointing at them. They were merely a silhouette, due to the only light being a distant streetlamp. The perpetrator's head swung back, and they clicked their tongue, causing them to stumble a bit. Adam took this chance and threw the lamp at them. It hit them in the shoulder, pushing them back. </p><p><br/>They didn’t seem hurt, however. They started laughing loudly, causing him to feel nauseous. Who would laugh in a situation like this? Before he could react, they just charged in the room, causing Adam to back into the bed again. They held a hatchet, which when illuminated by the streetlamp, seemed to already have blood on the handle. Adam gathered as much info as he could in a few moments. They wore an olive-colored hoodie, a mask, and goggles. He could give this information to the police. His arms flung, reaching frantically for anything around him. He reached his pillows, throwing them haphazardly at the murderer. This didn’t stun them, however, as they cornered him onto the bed. The murderer went to raise the hatchet about their head, but instead, it got tossed across the room. The murderer spit a word that Adam didn’t understand through the mask. Without thinking, Adam went to lunge into them. But it was too late. As he flung himself at them, they had already pulled out a knife and placed it perpendicular in front of their chest. The knife stabbed into Adam, and the murderer hopped back to avoid falling.<br/>This didn’t stop Adam, despite bleeding profusely out of his chest. The adrenaline pushed him to keep going. As his soon to be killer jumped and then squatted, a similar action to that of a frog, Adam pushed his nightstand in the direction of the killer. They jumped out of the way, throwing their knife straight at him. With nowhere near perfect aim, but perfect strength, it sank nearly an inch into his kidney area. Not enough, but it startled him. He went to take the knife out of his stomach, but before he could, he was tackled to the bed. The murderer used his force to drive the knife into Adam more, stabbing straight through his kidney. Twisting it around, Adam screamed. The murderer pulled the knife out, raising it high above his head, then into Adam’s chest. It cracked the sternum but didn’t make it all the way through. They rose, sinking the knife into him again, this time making it between his ribs. They just kept going, a bit sloppy. His chest, his ribs, his throat, over and over.</p><p><br/>Adam’s screams and tears died down to a silent nothing with one final thought going through his head. “Why didn’t my parents help me?” Adam was dead, but the killer wasn’t done. The blood spurting out Adam’s jugular finally died down to a gentle pulse, a wonderful sight for the masked killer. Holding the knife in their clumsy hands, they carved it into Adam’s jaw, dislodging the joints holding the skull and lower jaw together. They worked the knife through his cheek, leaving jagged cuts that left the jaw hanging on by a few tendons, and some strained muscle. Pulling a piece of glass out of their hoodie pocket, their arm jerked, stabbing the glass through the mask and into his cheek. Their blood dripped down onto Adam’s face, mixing with his own blood. They pulled another piece out and jammed it into his face. They repeated this a few more times on the rest of Adam’s face, and then stood up. Their gloves were ripped by the glass, and they had a few small cuts. They didn’t seem to notice too much.</p><p><br/>They walked through the house, filled with the now dead bodies of the victim’s parents and the victim himself. Every step they took caused the floorboards to squeak, but no one was awake to be alerted by the sound. They made it to the front door with a few stomps and a few frog-like hops, but there was no one to notice. Stepping outside, they eyed the can of gasoline they left out front. Putting the knife back in their holder, their arm jerked, and they slapped themselves in the face. They laced their fingers around the handle of the jerry can, popping the lid off in a simple stroke.</p><p><br/>Starting with a trail from the front door to the rest of the house, they poured gasoline on everything flammable and everything combustible. It being a one-story house made it easy. They made sure to put gasoline on the bodies and beds, but ultimately connecting everything in a single, convoluted trail. Once the jerry can was empty, they tossed it on the rough carpet of the living room. They turned on the burners on the stove, so they only released gas and made their way out of the house.</p><p><br/>They stepped out of the house and struck a match. Mesmerized, they stared at the flame for all but a moment. Dropping it on the beginning trail of gasoline, a quick chain reaction started as the flames quickly spread. The fire reflected against their goggles, and they grinned under their mask. As the fire burned behind him, he made his way down the street, ignoring the cries of fear as the fire moved onto the houses next to it. By the time the police and firemen get there, any evidence left behind would be burnt to a crisp, finishing the job.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Toby's Perspective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Same story but from Toby's perspective</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The wind whistled through its bleak surroundings, the leaves on trees doing a slow waltz. The moon rested overhead, peeking through a thick blanket of dark, ashen clouds. A storm threatened to pelt the neighborhood with no mercy, soaking the grass until it could hold no more. Dim streetlamps with bulbs that would go out any seconds lit the street, casting shadows upon blank, standard housing. The occasional rustle of grass was the only life that was in the neighborhood, but no one was awake to hear it. The cover of night protected many out, the silence and darkness a perfect disguise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This proved useful for a certain someone, going by the name Toby Rogers, or his alias of Ticci Toby. Treading lightly across the sidewalk, his shadow following in close proximity. The few lights did well to hide his features, but occasionally he would pass by a simple house light, lighting up his guise. A simple olive hoodie, a muffling mask, and round, yellow goggles. This proved well enough to keep him from getting caught, despite lacking intricate details. His hands were equipped with an orange-handled hatchet, stained with distant remnants of other victims’ blood, and a 5-gallon jerry can. His go-to weapon proved well efficient, except when a certain issue came up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piss off Wanker!” He yelped out with a jerk of his head and a stomp of his foot. Regaining his footing, he continued on his way to a certain house in the neighborhood. Toby developed Tourette’s at the young age of 3, diagnosed by a blinking tic and small jerks. As the years progressed, he picked up more complex, harder to deal with tics. These were inconvenient, especially when dealing with his victims, but he worked around it. Of course, if he had to do his job, he’d have to figure some way to work with it, right? Fortunately, for him, he has a good idea of his tics and how to work around them depending on his surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Approaching the house, he took note of it. The porch light flickered, surrounded by moths. The wood around the door seemed scraped and rotted, a fixing job long overdue, but the owners were probably too idiotic to fix it themselves. The age of the house gave hints as to how this job would be. The rotting wood let him know that the house is probably still in it’s old, tattered state. Enough of analyzing though, he had a job to do. Setting the jerry can gently on the front porch, he crept his way around the house, to the back window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peering in, he noticed a man and a woman sleeping, indicating a typical nuclear family. The man was turned the opposite direction of the woman, face grimaced in his sleep. Toby slid the window open slowly, providing a metal on metal screech, the woman stirred, but ultimately stayed asleep. Toby cursed quietly, damning the owners for not taking care of their house. Opening the window to the bare minimum, Toby slid his slim body in, careful to not catch the hatchet on the windowsill. Setting his feet feather-light on the floor, his arm not holding his weapon jerked, knocking into the wall. Due to his slight distance from the wall, it wasn’t too loud but the woman’s eyes fluttered open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the woman’s eyes could adjust to the darkness and figure out there was a masked boy in the house, Toby raised his hatchet and swung it straight on her throat. She let out a gargled cry, blood pooling out and down her throat. He swung his hatchet once more where he already hit, and she fell into a deep, long slumber. He looked up and noticed the man staring in horror at the scenario, obscured by the lack of light. Toby didn’t waste a second, lifting the weapon and bringing it straight down onto the man’s skull. The strength of the hit cracked through his skull, sending shards deep into his brain. The man fell back onto the bed, to join his wife. Toby giggled quietly, the view of the bodies always the most beautiful sight. The way bones crack, the blood spilling across the sheets, bonus points if the jugular squirts. It’s always so alluring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cracked open the door, hearing it squeal loudly, causing him to emit a sigh. He hated the loud houses, it meant he couldn’t be as lenient with his actions as he normally was. As if to curse the situation, one of his louder vocal tics sprung from his throat. “Fuck off Mr. President!” Following this, he grunted, a sound coming from deep in his vocal cords, and then yelped. Thankfully, it was mostly muffled by the mask. He took slow steps down the hallway to the second bedroom, each floorboard making a loud creak. He got to the door and paused. He heard a noise coming from inside the room. Loud groans from what sounded like a bed frame, then the floorboards shifting. Someone was awake in there. He grinned, he was going to have so much fun with this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toby flung the door open while spouting a few involuntary curse words, to view the sight of a male, about high school age, pointing a lamp at him. He chuckled, the awake ones always think they’re going to be the heroes. As he was about to charge, his head jerked back, causing him to stumble a bit. Before he could regain his footing, the victim threw the lamp at him, landing it right at his shoulder. He felt the impact, but he felt no pain from the bulb shattering. He laughed, a sick maniacal laugh. Poor guy, he had no idea that he could never possibly win. It’s so cute to watch them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toby charged at the boy, backing him into the bed. He watched him squirm, feeling and grabbing for anything. As the helpless boy flung pillows with wild abandon, Toby raised the hatchet stained with the blood of the boy’s parents, and as he was about to bring it down, he threw it across the room. With reflexes of a cat, he pulled a knife out of its scabbard, noticing that the boy was about to lunge. He jerked his arm, on purpose this time, up to his chest and held the knife facing outwards. The boy lunged at him and the knife sank straight into his solar plexus. Toby hopped back to avoid falling, pulling the knife with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy’s adrenaline was surging strongly though, and he pushed the nightstand towards him. Toby jumped to the side and threw the knife at his victim. Even with great strength, it only pierced the boy about an inch deep in his kidney area. Before the boy could grab the knife, Toby ran at him and tackled him to the bed. He pulled the knife and started stabbing everywhere he could. He cracked the boy’s sternum with the first blow, then went between the ribs and pierced his heart. Blood gushed out, but he went going. His movements got sloppy, managing to stab his neck and stomach in the process. He smirked as he watched the last spark of any life fade from the boy’s eyes. Blood squirted out of his jugular all over Toby’s clothes. He rubbed his goggles off with his cleaner glove so he could see once again. He prepared for the last step, he always does it on the teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed a little tune, clutching the knife. He sank it into the TMJ, separating the skull and jaw. He dragged the knife through the boy’s cheek, making harsh, jagged cuts. The knife would clack against his teeth, and in the process, the tongue managed to be cut off. It was sloppy work, but it had to be done. Finally, the jaw hung on by the last few tendons he took caution to avoid, and it was time for the second step. He pulled a large shard of glass out of his pocket, but his arm jerked and he sliced through the mask and cut his cheek. He paid no mind to it, seeing as he couldn’t feel pain. He tugged the boy’s eyelid open and hastily jabbed the glass straight through his pupil. He pushed until he felt it hit the back of the socket, then released the eyelid. Due to the glass, the eye rested open, giving Toby an emotionless, blank stare. He grabbed more glass out of his pockets and shoved it through the victim’s face, some pieces shattering due to the harsh work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suffer exactly how my sister had to,” he whispered, standing up. He reached his arms high above his head in a stretch, relaxing his tense muscles after the scenario. Staring at his gloves, he realized they were torn from the glass and he had small bleeding scrapes. He didn’t even realize he had gotten them. He trotted out of the room, a bit of pep in his step. His footsteps were loud, but no one was alive to hear it. He took note of the layout of the house and shook his head. It was a surprise people even lived in it. He made it to the front door and looked at the grimy doorknob. He gagged. He was a killer, but at least he had living standards. He grabbed it with only the pads of his fingers and opened it. The sound alone was probably enough to wake the neighbors, but no one stirred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laced his fingers around the jerry can, lifting it up. With one simple stroke, the cap had popped off, and the reeking smell of gasoline filled the air. He breathed in deeply, the smell comforting. He started at the doorway, making a trail into the house. He poured it on all the easily flammable furniture and on the drywall. Making it to the bedroom, he made sure to douse the boy in plenty of the sleek liquid. As he went through, he admired his beautiful work. He was so proud of this one. When he got to the parents’ room, he made sure to close the window. He covered their bodies and led the trail back out to the living room. Walking into the kitchen, he noticed they had a gas stove. He turned the burners so they only dispensed gas, and dropped the empty jerry can on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made his way back to the front porch and struck a match. He stared at it, mesmerized, but tossed it down onto the gasoline trail before too long. The house instantly started to light up in flames due to the sheer amount of gasoline around, and as he walked away, there was an explosion due to the natural gas. He started jogging down the street, making sure to be gone before anyone arrived. When the firemen got there, the evidence he was there would be burnt to a crisp, finishing the job.</span>
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